


Pumpkin Spice

by Syntax



Category: Monster Girls | Monster Boys, Original Work
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Gender-neutral Reader, Halloween, Human/Monster Romance, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24315103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syntax/pseuds/Syntax
Summary: Every year he claws his way up out of your garden, and every year you let him rest inside for the night until he fades away again in the morning.
Relationships: Headless Horseman/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 98





	Pumpkin Spice

**Author's Note:**

> trying to get back into writing again and i been thinking about those good headless boys

Every year he claws his way up out of your garden, and every year you let him rest inside for the night until he fades away again in the morning.

Sure, the first year you saw a man in full military uniform break the earth open under his fingers and tear himself out of your pumpkin patch, on Halloween night no less, you were screaming your own head off long before you realized he didn't have his.

Now though?

Shit, now you greet him with a cup of tea when he comes in. It's not like you get company all that often, anyways.

You've got everything winding down by about 5 pm, all your dishes washed and leftovers boxed and what cleaning you felt like doing either done or done enough that you wouldn't feel like you were being judged by some ephemeral specter of your mom or something the moment you go from loner to host. You're probably more annoyed by _that_ specter than the one you're expecting.

What else...

You head into the bathroom and bring out some towels to help guard your carpet from the inevitable scattering of wet earth. You get out some house slippers. You debate getting out a board game or two but then you realize that the only game you have that could theoretically be played with two people is Cards Against Humanity, which is not something you're inflicting on a ghost older than both of your grandparents. Combined.

You decide to nix the board games.

You comb through all your boxes of tea and pull out some of the good gunpowder stuff to brew for the night. You pour some water into your tea kettle and let it heat up on its own. You check outside to see how your pumpkin patch is doing.

The sun has almost set by now. You hunker down by the back window to wait and watch the show.

You don't have to wait long.

It starts out slowly at first, with the earth in your backyard rising a bit, like something underneath the grass is thumping against it like an an apartment wall. Then the rising gets more violent, more like beating against the wall, until you hear the grass roots get torn into nothing as the earth breaks apart piece by piece.

His hands come out first. They're gloved, thankfully, or else you'd probably be cleaning blood out of your carpet as well as dirt. His arms come out next, followed by a set of shoulders in antique uniform—and _only_ a set of shoulders. One of your pumpkins starts glowing by the time he gets the rest of his torso out.

You hear the kettle calling you away and scowl at it. Really? You're going to have to miss the best part?

The kettle continues to whine at you, indifferent to how seldom you get to see this, so you rise from your chair and go deal with it.

He's stepping out of the earth by the time you get back to the window, and yep, you missed the pumpkin bursting into cool magic flames and coming out of it with a glowing jack-o-lantern face. Fuck. You curse the kettle under your breath even as your tea steeps on the counter.

He looks around almost frantic, the bright jack-o-lantern he set up on his shoulders swiveling comically as his whole body moves every which way, searching for something. You're never really sure what. A battlefield? A horse? A head? You'll probably never know.

You turn the porch lights on for him. That gets his attention.

You go to unfold your towels and lay them down on the carpet while a set of heavy boots clumps around in your back patio, laying them out all nice in front of the door. For a moment after you finish, you don't hear another sound, despite knowing full well the hessian is probably standing right next to the door, boring holes in it with that jack-o-lantern.

Then comes a single, almost hesitant knock at the door.

You bite back a laugh at the noise. Oh, man. There's a big smile on your face as you open the door.

The Headless Hessian stands almost meekly in your doorway, whatever intimidating figure he might've cut with his horseman's uniform and his sizable height diminished by how he grips the edges of his coat like you'll send him away this year if he isn't good.

Your smile only widens.

"Hey big guy," you say. "Looks like it's been another year already, huh? Come on in, I just brewed some tea."

You're not actually sure how much of what you say he can actually understand—the guy died a good 250 years ago according to legend, and he was German on top of it, so you don't really know how well he understands modern English.

But he sets a mud-covered boot down on the towels, and he seems to get your meaning when you gesture to the house slippers set out by the door, and he takes the mug of tea with as much grace as any house guest you've ever had. You brush some of the excess dirt off his uniform and lead him over to the couch to sit down for a while.

"So," you say cheerfully, "Wanna hear about what's been going on since last Halloween? I bet you noticed the pumpkin patch is bigger than it was last year."

The hessian seems to ponder the question, and pours a little bit of tea into the jagged mouth of his jack-o-lantern. After a moment or so, he nods, and you launch into your story.

Your smile hardly ever leaves your face as you talk to him, stopping only for sips of tea and the occasional search for words.

And it might be the jagged grin of the jack-o-lantern influencing your opinion, but you get the feeling that the hessian is smiling too.


End file.
